chocolate
by 10millionpeople
Summary: "Do you want me to tell you to stay?" He finally asks her. She laughs breezily. "I want you to say whatever you want to say, House, or nothing at all."


House doesn't say anything when Cameron slowly pushes open his office door, slips in unannounced, and closes it. Outside, snow has started to fall, so he breathes onto the glass and writes "HI!", turning back to her and putting his welcome mat on display by way of over-exaggerated smile and jazz hands.

She flashes him a smile, albeit seemingly rather nostalgic. She isn't wearing her lab coat, he notes. When she sits down in the chair by his desk, he fixes her with his nonchalant stare.

"Did the Wombat finally try to nest in your hair? Are you now seeking shelter in hopes he won't mess up your ponytail?" She smiles. It's kind of sullen, he thinks.

"Not today, House. I just decided to stop in, is all. About to head home for the night."

She won't look him in the eye, is more focused on her cuticle lines. He takes a Hershey's Kiss ut of his desk drawer and begins to unwrap it, rolling his chair to the side of his desk closest to her. "Is there a reason for this little visit, or did you just come to bask in my presence?" She lifts her head.

She looks him in the eye. "A little of both, not that you need your ego stroked." He raises an eyebrow. "House, I can't do this anymore."

"Oh, I don't blame you. There's only so many times you can hear your name choked out in that thick Aussie accent before it starts to grate on your eardrums." He pops the Kiss in his mouth, smirks at her and she laughs.

"You know that's not what I mean," she says softly, sobering. "I'll have my letter into you tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you first." His face falls, just a little. It's so subtle he thinks she may not have even noticed. He knows she probably did. "I'm resigning, House."

Resolve quickly building, he bucks his shoulders up and purses his lips. "I'll try not to take it personally."

Cameron blinks rapidly, corners of her lips turning up in a fashion he can only describe as watery, whatever the hell that means. "You're smarter than that." Pause. "When I first got this job, I knew I was going to love working under you. I never thought it would get this far."

He doesn't have time to ponder this before she stands up, straightens her dress pants, and looks down at him. Feeling small under her gaze and the weight of everything unsaid between them, he stands too.

"Do you want me to tell you to stay?" He finally asks her. She laughs breezily.

"I want you to say whatever you want to say, House, or nothing at all."

"Like that's ever been the case." He squints at her. "You have another offer on the table already?" His collar is loose by three buttons, but still he feels like he's being slowly strangled.

"I do, actually. A hospital in Seattle. I'm supposed to let them know tomorrow, but I think I'm going to take it."

Not that he'd ever admit it, but his ears are ringing. The noose tightens. "Not enough sun on the east coast for you?"

She becomes pensive. "Something like that." They hold gazes for a second, two, three. "Thank you, House." She offers him a olive branch in the form of an outstretched hand. He doesn't take it immediately. She persists.

Time becomes molasses in his fingers. _I know too much and not enough. _He is God to Princeton-Plainsboro, but in the face of this, in the face of everything he wants and everything he can't have, he is as good as dead.

Somewhere, a whale sings at the frequency of 52 hertz. This pitch is too high for any other whale to hear. House thinks that if this whale could sing lower, maybe he wouldn't be the loneliest whale in the world. Or maybe all he needs is another whale to sing at this frequency with him.

He reaches for her hand just as she's letting it fall. He tugs it toward himself, and when she is pulled flush against him, he meets her lips with his.

It is nothing like the first time. He initiates this. No witty insult or narcissistic comment is going to get him out of this one. He is surprisingly unaffected.

The hand he had steadying himself on the edge of the desk cups the back of her neck, and he centers his weight on his good leg. Cameron touches his hips tentatively at first, then holds him in place. He licks into her mouth and wraps both hands around her neck, knowing how easily he could snap it from this angle. Knowing she knows, and doesn't flinch anyway.

When he finally pulls away, she lets him, and he arches down to press his forehead against hers. Their breathings are labored.

"I'm shit at this," he says, as if a disclaimer is necessary for her when he knows it isn't.

She laughs. "Yeah, I know." He kisses her again between breaths.

"Stay," he whispers, and kisses her again. "Stay." He isn't begging, doesn't plead with her, figures he doesn't have to. She is smart enough, he knows, to figure out everything he does not have the emotional capability to say out loud. She is smart enough, he knows, to probably already have it figured out.

House pulls back slowly, but doesn't open his eyes. Not yet. "I have a bottle of wine at my house that we could go back and drink…" he says, finally meets her gaze and smirks. "I have one of those mattresses where you can jump on one side of the bed and put your wine glass on the other and it won't spill, too. I think that might come in handy." She laughs like pebbles turning around in a riverbed.

"Fine. But Jersey winters are harsh and I'm not taking my clothes off unless you make me hot chocolate," she answers, returning his smirk. He lets out an exasperated breath but moves to kiss her again anyway.

He winks before slanting his lips to her own. "I will, but only because I _looooove _the taste of chocolate."

Cameron smiles against his mouth, hands twisting in his shirttail, untucking it. "I think we could make that work."

They take the bike home and her hands are nearly frozen by the time they walk inside. He makes a beeline for the kettle as she curls up with a quilt on his couch.

He comes back to her with a steaming mug, and she wraps her fingers around it, thawing them.

"You know I only made this so your hands won't be so cold when you stick them down my pants, right?" She hits him in the face with a pillow, but doesn't pull away when he wraps a hand in her hair, draws her to his chest.

House wraps them both in the quilt and tries his best not to cuddle with her, not to make this romantic, but dammit if she doesn't smell like chocolate, and he was kidding about the mattress, but not about the sweets.

He just really loves the taste of chocolate (and really loves the taste of her).


End file.
